Just for fun, in the time-honoured tradition of maximising hostility, promoting cosntructive xenophobia and polarising the two sets of supporters as much as possible in advance of the next IR test 
First impressions of Aussie Rules
FAO fellow Irish fans here - I decided to see if I could figure out how that Australian Rules game works. So I went down to Xtravision and got out a video of some big game – I think it was called ”The Grand Final”. I found the whole thing fascinating. This is how it goes, as far as I can make out.
The referee walks onto the field carrying, not a ball, but a small shaven animal - presumably something like a kookabunga wobblebat or a duck-filled flatpussy or some such miniature Australian marsupial yokey – whatever. Since I really don’t have any idea what it is, I’ll call it the “thing”. In any case, as soon becomes apparent, this fecker has a mind of its own.
The referee carries it into the middle of the field, followed by about thirty awkward-looking blokes in coloured sleeveless vests, indecently short shorts, knee-length socks of the type generally seen as part of a school uniform and football boots. These people stand around and watch while the ref. tries to kill the animal thing by raising it over his head and then hurling it to the ground as hard as he can. This never seems to work, however and only succeeds in aggravating the thing so that it buck-leps up into the air and sets off bounding unpredictably about the pitch. Immediately, the whole sleeveless company gives chase, followed in turn by the referee, blowing furiously on his whistle. I couldn’t work out what the whistling was about. I suppose it’s either “leave it alone” or “give it back to me when you catch it”.
This goes on for a while, with the stampeding mob of remarkably uncoordinated individuals, who resemble escapees from Wrestlemania, raining kicks and punches and landing blows, frequently on each other and very occasionally on the frightened thing.
Usually, the rampaging hooligans eventually succeed in capturing the thing. This is most often achieved when one of them accidentally falls on top of it as a result of being felled by a blow to the head from one of the other pursuers. When this happens, the rest of the chasing pack throw themselves on top of the unconscious captor in a huge heap and amuse themselves by punching and gouging each other, thus incidentally ensuring that the thing remains imprisoned under the heaving brawl until the referee catches up and whistles the commotion to a stop.
The referee then retrieves the thing from under the pileup and immediately tries again to kill it in the same way as before and with the same result.
While this hullabaloo takes place on the field, a huge assemblage of people, many with alarming dental misalignments, screams encouragement and abuse in equal measure from the stands, although whether they are on the side of the hapless creature, its hunters or the referee is unclear.
Somewhere else on the edge of the field, a gaggle of women in short skirts spends the whole time lepping up and down and shaking a lot of huge mops that have no handles. (I can only assume that the handles are confiscated at the turnstiles and I think I can understand why). I couldn’t figure out whether this was part of the game or not but I eventually came to the conclusion that these are the cleaning staff and they’re anxiously beseeching the rioters on the field to stop for just a minute, so that they can come in and mop up the blood. Either that, or the women are peeved because they had the same field booked for their mop-shaking competition.
Back on the field, the rampage continues. Occasionally, the referee tires of his attempts to do away with the thing and, on retrieving it, hands it to a member of the pursuit gang, so that he, in turn, can have a go at slaughtering the unfortunate creature. This initiates a bizarre ceremony in which the chosen assassin, while walking backwards, fondles the thing for a time, as if to calm it down. At the same time, one of his henchmen in the vest-clad mob stands with his arms above his head in what appears to be some form of supplication to the gods of a weird cult. After a while, the would-be ritual killer ends his backwards walk and, still grasping the thing, arms fully extended, sets out to cover the same ground in the forward direction. Starting at a trot and gradually gaining speed and momentum, suddenly he does massive violence to the unfortunate thing by dealing it an almighty kick, which sends it soaring out of the field altogether and into the midst of the howling mob in the stands.
When this happens, a small clown in a white suit and a white trilby hat performs a short dance ceremony, which involves skipping to and fro along a line near the edge of the field and performing an elaborate series of gesticulations. What seems to be going on here is that the clown’s job is to signal “yes, that’s it well and truly dead now and that’s the fella that did it” as he points at the kicker with his two arms. He would seem to have come to a reasonable conclusion, given the proceedings thus far. However, the suggestion seems to enrage the crowd, because they respond by roaring even louder than before, presumably because they now have the animal thing and have discerned that it’s not dead at all. So they toss it back onto the field, either to prove that it’s still alive or in an attempt to disable the clown - I’m not sure which. In any case, the thing is now sufficiently subdued for the referee to be able to seize it without difficulty, whereupon he takes it back to the centre of the field and once again slams it to the ground. Again, he manages only to terrify or infuriate it (it’s impossible to determine which) and off it goes again, darting and hopping this way and that, chased again by the charging, thrashing mob, pursued by the whistling referee, roared on by the raving crowd. And so on.
This carry-on carries on, so to speak, for an hour or so, on and off, interrupted by occasional cessations of violence, when all participants apparently simultaneously decide to give up trying to butcher the thing and concede that it has won. So they all troop off the field together, taking the thing with them. But, a few minutes later, they seem to change their minds and they all come back again, the referee carrying the thing as before. However, I strongly suspect that what they have done is taken the original thing into the toilets and drowned it and that this is a substitute, fresh one that they must think they have a better chance of murdering. (I bet they have hundreds of them in captivity). One way or the other, the frenzied spectators are either fooled or don’t care, because they start baying again, the thing is brought to the centre of the field and maltreated as before and the chase and commotion resume. And so it goes, until a big hooter sounds and all combatants cease hostlities and congratulate each other, the referee puts the bedraggled creature under his arm, the women put away their mops, they all head for the changing rooms, the crowd heads for the beerhouses, some foolish characters appear on the TV and start discussing the spectacle we’ve seen and I switch off, perplexed but hugely entertained.
First impressions of Aussie Rules
FAO fellow Irish fans here - I decided to see if I could figure out how that Australian Rules game works. So I went down to Xtravision and got out a video of some big game – I think it was called ”The Grand Final”. I found the whole thing fascinating. This is how it goes, as far as I can make out.
The referee walks onto the field carrying, not a ball, but a small shaven animal - presumably something like a kookabunga wobblebat or a duck-filled flatpussy or some such miniature Australian marsupial yokey – whatever. Since I really don’t have any idea what it is, I’ll call it the “thing”. In any case, as soon becomes apparent, this fecker has a mind of its own.
The referee carries it into the middle of the field, followed by about thirty awkward-looking blokes in coloured sleeveless vests, indecently short shorts, knee-length socks of the type generally seen as part of a school uniform and football boots. These people stand around and watch while the ref. tries to kill the animal thing by raising it over his head and then hurling it to the ground as hard as he can. This never seems to work, however and only succeeds in aggravating the thing so that it buck-leps up into the air and sets off bounding unpredictably about the pitch. Immediately, the whole sleeveless company gives chase, followed in turn by the referee, blowing furiously on his whistle. I couldn’t work out what the whistling was about. I suppose it’s either “leave it alone” or “give it back to me when you catch it”.
This goes on for a while, with the stampeding mob of remarkably uncoordinated individuals, who resemble escapees from Wrestlemania, raining kicks and punches and landing blows, frequently on each other and very occasionally on the frightened thing.
Usually, the rampaging hooligans eventually succeed in capturing the thing. This is most often achieved when one of them accidentally falls on top of it as a result of being felled by a blow to the head from one of the other pursuers. When this happens, the rest of the chasing pack throw themselves on top of the unconscious captor in a huge heap and amuse themselves by punching and gouging each other, thus incidentally ensuring that the thing remains imprisoned under the heaving brawl until the referee catches up and whistles the commotion to a stop.
The referee then retrieves the thing from under the pileup and immediately tries again to kill it in the same way as before and with the same result.
While this hullabaloo takes place on the field, a huge assemblage of people, many with alarming dental misalignments, screams encouragement and abuse in equal measure from the stands, although whether they are on the side of the hapless creature, its hunters or the referee is unclear.
Somewhere else on the edge of the field, a gaggle of women in short skirts spends the whole time lepping up and down and shaking a lot of huge mops that have no handles. (I can only assume that the handles are confiscated at the turnstiles and I think I can understand why). I couldn’t figure out whether this was part of the game or not but I eventually came to the conclusion that these are the cleaning staff and they’re anxiously beseeching the rioters on the field to stop for just a minute, so that they can come in and mop up the blood. Either that, or the women are peeved because they had the same field booked for their mop-shaking competition.
Back on the field, the rampage continues. Occasionally, the referee tires of his attempts to do away with the thing and, on retrieving it, hands it to a member of the pursuit gang, so that he, in turn, can have a go at slaughtering the unfortunate creature. This initiates a bizarre ceremony in which the chosen assassin, while walking backwards, fondles the thing for a time, as if to calm it down. At the same time, one of his henchmen in the vest-clad mob stands with his arms above his head in what appears to be some form of supplication to the gods of a weird cult. After a while, the would-be ritual killer ends his backwards walk and, still grasping the thing, arms fully extended, sets out to cover the same ground in the forward direction. Starting at a trot and gradually gaining speed and momentum, suddenly he does massive violence to the unfortunate thing by dealing it an almighty kick, which sends it soaring out of the field altogether and into the midst of the howling mob in the stands.
When this happens, a small clown in a white suit and a white trilby hat performs a short dance ceremony, which involves skipping to and fro along a line near the edge of the field and performing an elaborate series of gesticulations. What seems to be going on here is that the clown’s job is to signal “yes, that’s it well and truly dead now and that’s the fella that did it” as he points at the kicker with his two arms. He would seem to have come to a reasonable conclusion, given the proceedings thus far. However, the suggestion seems to enrage the crowd, because they respond by roaring even louder than before, presumably because they now have the animal thing and have discerned that it’s not dead at all. So they toss it back onto the field, either to prove that it’s still alive or in an attempt to disable the clown - I’m not sure which. In any case, the thing is now sufficiently subdued for the referee to be able to seize it without difficulty, whereupon he takes it back to the centre of the field and once again slams it to the ground. Again, he manages only to terrify or infuriate it (it’s impossible to determine which) and off it goes again, darting and hopping this way and that, chased again by the charging, thrashing mob, pursued by the whistling referee, roared on by the raving crowd. And so on.
This carry-on carries on, so to speak, for an hour or so, on and off, interrupted by occasional cessations of violence, when all participants apparently simultaneously decide to give up trying to butcher the thing and concede that it has won. So they all troop off the field together, taking the thing with them. But, a few minutes later, they seem to change their minds and they all come back again, the referee carrying the thing as before. However, I strongly suspect that what they have done is taken the original thing into the toilets and drowned it and that this is a substitute, fresh one that they must think they have a better chance of murdering. (I bet they have hundreds of them in captivity). One way or the other, the frenzied spectators are either fooled or don’t care, because they start baying again, the thing is brought to the centre of the field and maltreated as before and the chase and commotion resume. And so it goes, until a big hooter sounds and all combatants cease hostlities and congratulate each other, the referee puts the bedraggled creature under his arm, the women put away their mops, they all head for the changing rooms, the crowd heads for the beerhouses, some foolish characters appear on the TV and start discussing the spectacle we’ve seen and I switch off, perplexed but hugely entertained.
